


like a swinging vine

by tosca1390



Category: FBI/US Attorney Series - Julie James
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>. “This is dumb,” she mutters, even as she slips out of bed and shuffles across the cool hardwood floors.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The Rhodes-McCalls are having a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a swinging vine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [theepiccek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepiccek/gifts), [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> Spoilers for "It Happened One Wedding."
> 
> I promised this to Grace weeks ago. I hope it isn't the worst. 
> 
> There are two.

*

It’s a late night for Nick. Normally, Jordan doesn’t lie awake staring at the ceiling of their bedroom, listening to cars pass by in the winter darkness. He’s a damn good agent; he’s the special agent in charge for the Chicago office, for god’s sake. Jordan doesn’t need to worry about him, not like she’s certain she would if he was still doing undercover work. 

Tonight, though, she can’t sleep. She rubs her thumb over her wedding ring and shifts uncomfortably under the blankets. Chicago in January is cold, colder even still with the damn polar vortex that keeps cycling through the Midwest, and she doesn’t want to get out of bed. But, if she stays in bed for any longer, staring at the ceiling, she’s going to throw her cell phone across the room. 

Sighing, she sits up and pushes thick blonde waves from her face. “This is dumb,” she mutters, even as she slips out of bed and shuffles across the cool hardwood floors. One of Nick’s sweatshirts, emblazoned across the chest with _FBI_ , is easily within reach on his dresser (he’s so untidy sometimes, but she can forgive him. Most of the time), and so she pulls it on over the flannel button-down of his she likes to sleep in. Her thick sweatpants drag over her toes as she pads out of the bedroom and through their condo. The silk camisoles are for special occasions; now, she finds the most comfort in his worn clothes. 

“This is dumb,” she repeats to herself as she flicks on the kitchen light and fills the teapot with water for tea – mint tonight, she thinks. It could be soothing. 

“This is dumb,” she says as she waits for the water to boil, glancing at the clock over the kitchen doorway. Eleven pm. A completely human time to be awake. 

“I’m dumb,” she mutters into the phone as she dials Kyle. He’s much more of a night owl than she is – he’ll be awake. 

Kyle doesn’t pick up. Probably because he’s married and with his wife at their apartment (Jordan loves Rylann. It’s fantastic to have another woman in the family who doesn’t take Kyle’s shit.) and isn’t pacing around their shared apartment like a lunatic. 

Fine, Jordan thinks to herself, a full mug of tea between her palms as she sits at the island counter in the kitchen. The granite gleams dark grey and cream from the muted hanging lights above her. She’s not a lunatic. She’s just – 

Well. When she decides something, and wants to have the conversation surrounding that decision, she wants to have it when she wants to. And waiting for an FBI agent husband to come home past eleven at night is a strain, when she keeps thinking of the different ways the conversation could go. Jordan likes straightforward answers, likes solid foundations. It’s one of the reasons she fell for Nick so quickly; the man is as solid as a rock, and even when he was undercover and “faking” everything having to do with them, he was never anything but straightforward. 

Now, all she needs is for him to walk in the damn door. 

It’s midnight and she’s halfway through a three-day-old crossword puzzle when the key turns in the front door, and she hears Nick’s heavy steps in the hall. She raises her head, tapping the end of her pen against the cool counter beneath her elbows. When he comes around the corner into the kitchen, he tilts his head and walks directly to her. 

“I told you I’d be late, right?” he asks, cupping her face between his broad hands. There is a residual chill from the winter air that not even his gloves could eliminate. She shivers slightly and nods. 

“You did.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses her, his lips cold against hers. “Why the hell are you still up?”

She scowls a little against his mouth, punching at his stomach. “A girl can’t wait up for her husband?”

“Sure she can. But we both know how you like your beauty sleep, Rhodes.” 

“Oh, because I’m the one that sleeps through the alarm every Sunday,” she retorts. 

Nick laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and kisses her again. His fingers weave through her loose blonde hair, cupping the nape of her neck. “I’m glad to see you.”

She smiles at that, reaching up to undo his tie as he leans closer to her. When she turns on her chair to face him fully, he drops his hands to her thighs and rests his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes. He looks tired, and she doesn’t quite know what to do for him when he looks like this. His job is still something she can’t completely fathom, something that sometimes terrifies her, but something that makes her so damn proud of him. She still wonders how he could want and need her – but he does. She’s not arguing. 

Tossing his tie aside, she loosens the collar of his shirt and settles her fingers on the nape of his neck, rubbing the tension there. He shivers under her fingers, sighing a little. “Long day,” he mutters. 

“Everything safe out there?” she teases, kissing his cheek. 

He squeezes her thighs, nodding. “Safe enough. Why the hell are you up, Rhodes?”

Grinning, she rubs her thumbs along the strong line of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He opens his eyes then, the green sharp and amused. “Pining for me still, after all these years together?”

“Sure. Let’s call it that,” she says dryly. 

Leaning in, he kisses her lightly. “Grey okay? Kyle?”

The pit of anxiety in her middle melts with his attention, his warm words. “Yeah.”

Wetting his lips, he pulls back slightly, his hands trailing up to rest at her waist. She can feel his warmth through the sweatshirt. He has his don’t-fuck-with-me face on, and while most of the time she finds it sexy, now he’s trying for intimidating and she’s just not into that. 

“So what’s going on?” he asks, arching his eyebrows. 

Jordan blinks up at him, mouth suddenly dry. She rests her hands on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. For the first time in a long while – since her wedding day, perhaps - , she aches at her mother’s absence. Perhaps she would know how to start this conversation. Nick’s mother is wonderful and warm, but in this moment, Jordan misses her own mother like a limb. 

“I want to start trying for a baby, Nick,” she says at last, steady and warm. No take-backs. 

For a long strange moment, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, or twitch. His eyelid doesn’t even begin to twitch, which she knows is a sure sign he’s antsy about _something_. Instead, he grips her at the waist and pins her with his gaze, the green gone wide and warm. 

Swallowing, she pats his chest. “The store is settled, and profitable. I think I can handle being away from it for a little bit without totally losing it.”

At that, he smiles. “Come on. You’re a control freak, Rhodes.”

She shrugs. “It’s good business.” Pausing, she rests her hands on his sides, feeling muscle and bone shift with his every breath. She knows the story of every scar and mark hidden under the cotton of his shirt and loves him for them. “You’re happy with your job, and we’re in this condo, and – I just –“ Her voice shudders for a moment and she takes a deep breath. “I think we’re ready. I think we could be good at this. And I want – Jesus Christ, McCall, would you say something?”

The breath leaves him in a slow exhale she feels under her palms. His grip tightens on her waist and he hauls her off of her chair and up against him, his mouth hot and soft on hers. Startled, she digs her fingers into his ribs and kisses him in return, shutting her eyes and arching against him. 

“That’s not really saying anything,” she mumbles against his mouth. 

He shifts his arms and lifts her up against his chest, until she has no choice but to wrap her legs around his hips and cling. His mouth doesn’t leave hers, his hands flat and secure on her back. He is warm and solid underneath her and all she can do is hold on, kissing him until she can’t breathe as he walks them upstairs to their bedroom. 

“Nick, for god’s sake – “ she exhales. 

Inside their room, he sits down on the edge of the bed and tucks her into his lap, stroking his hands over her back and the tangled fall of her hair. In the dim light his eyes are very dark, and settled on her face. 

“I love you,” he says after a moment, voice low and thick. She shivers, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. Day-old stubble scrapes against her palms. “I want this.”

Stupid tears edge her eyes. She blinks, smiling widely. “Would that have been so hard to say downstairs?”

“I didn’t fucking cut and run, did I?” he growls. 

“You’re an idiot,” she says fondly, kissing him on the mouth. “So, we’ll start trying.”

“Fuck yeah we will.” His gaze sharpens, a wicked smile curving his mouth. “Lots of trying.”

“It might not happen right away,” she warns even as he stretches back on the bed with her sprawled over him. Her hands go to the buttons of his crisp white shirt, working their way down his chest as she talks. Her birth control is just running out, and she knows from research that it can take months to work the hormones out of the body, and she’s over thirty now – 

He kisses her, tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt. “Hence all the trying.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she mutters as she pushes his shirt off his shoulders and peels his undershirt away from his chest. 

“I love when you berate me,” he laughs. “God, Jordan –“

“Excellent word association,” she says, lifting her arms. Her sweatshirt and flannel shirt come away, leaving her exposed to the cool night air. “Nick – “

Kissing her throat with a wet and needy mouth, he crawls under the blankets and tugs her with him. “I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs against the thin skin of her pulse. “I’ve always got you.”

Jordan shuts her eyes at last and leaves the ceiling to itself. 

*

The trying is fun. 

The trying is so _fun_. 

They decide to not _plan_ , per se. Jordan doesn’t download any apps concerning her ovulation cycle, and they don’t tell anyone they’re trying. Both she and Nick go to the doctor’s to get checked over, and everything is perfectly fine. And so, they decide to wing it, so to speak. Jordan doesn’t mind – she gets sex in the back room of the wine store over lunch one Wednesday in February because of it. But she does decide to order a few parenting books, and one lazy Saturday Nick plops his laptop in front of her at the kitchen island and shows her a few crib thoughts. They’re both thinking about it, but they’re not obsessing about it, and it feels – good. It feels not like this giant step they’ve decided to take, but something more natural, easier. It feels like the simplest decision they’ve made, which sounds utterly odd. 

After all, they’ve just started trying. Sometimes it takes years. Now is the fun part, where they enjoy the trying and damn the rest. 

February is busy, with Valentine’s Day and movement on a few of Nick’s open cases, and so Jordan stops thinking about the possibilities of babies and families and instead throws herself into work. The store is busier than ever and she barely sees Nick for a whole week near the end of the month – so when she misses her period in March, she hardly notices. 

In April, however, she does. 

“You look different,” Kyle says to her as he leans over the counter in DeVine Cellars. The store is relatively empty for a Thursday afternoon; Easter, however, is in a week, and Jordan knows just how much wine is needed for family events such as those. She’s been to an Easter dinner in Brooklyn once, with Nick, and she’s pretty sure an entire case of wine was consumed. 

Not all by her, of course. Though Nick’s family can be overwhelming. 

“Don’t you have a company to run?” she asks, exasperated. She feels out of sorts and on an edge these days; Nick’s been working late on a few weapons smuggling cases, and she hasn’t really seen him much – enough to make her feel as if she’s going to crawl out of her skin if she doesn’t get her hands on him soon. 

Kyle shrugs, casual and collected in his dark blue button down and jeans. “I’m taking a long lunch.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, blowing the bangs out of her eyes. She rests her elbows on the counter and glares at him. 

“And you look awful. Is it Nick? I’m pretty sure I can hack his computer if you need me to.”

“Rylann would toss you back in jail so fast,” she teases. 

Grinning, he runs a hand through his hair. “What a fantastic woman she is.”

“This newlyweds thing only works for the first year, you know. Six more months and you’re done,” she retorts. 

Narrowing his eyes, Kyle tips his head back, the spring sunlight glinting off his blond hair. “Seriously though. You sick?”

“You and Nick should know better than to ask a woman that,” she mutters, glancing at her laptop and opening the calendar. 

“Guess I’m the twin that’ll age well,” he jokes. 

“Go stab yourself with a fork,” she counters, brow furrowing. 

“God, you’re in a mood. I’m glad as fuck I don’t live with you anymore. 18 years was enough of your mood swings,” he says lightly. No harm, no foul. 

The realization jolts through her as she clicks through the past week’s calendar, her eyes flickering to Kyle and then back to her laptop. Mouth dry, she takes a step back from her counter. 

“Jordo?”

Blinking, she stares at Kyle, who looks wary, as if she’s sprouting a second head. “I – Sorry. It’s fine,” she says, waving her hand lightly through the air. “Just – a scheduling error.”

“Okay then,” he mutters, pushing off the counter. “You and Nick are coming to dinner with Dad Saturday night, yeah?”

“Of course,” she says. 

“Bring wine,” he says with a cheeky wink before he strolls out the door. 

As soon as he’s gone, Jordan calls her assistant manager, Roland, and has him come in to relieve her. A charming working actor currently between shows, he’s grateful for the extra shift. Her doctor gets her in for a check-up tomorrow afternoon, and she knows exactly where the closest Walgreens is by the time he arrives. 

“Everything all right, boss?” he asks as she pulls on her trench coat, his smile white against his dark skin. 

“Fine, fine. See you tomorrow,” she says with a hurried wave, and all but sprints out of the store. 

An hour later, with three pregnancy tests in her purse, Jordan pauses in the midst of drinking her third iced tea, staring at up the building that houses Nick and the FBI Chicago offices. She really hadn’t meant to walk this way. Too many people might know her, and tell Nick – and she doesn’t know quite what to do. She should take the tests. _Stop acting like a brainless wonder and take the tests_ , she thinks harshly as she tosses the iced tea in the nearest garbage can and tips her head back to the spotty sunshine. Chicago in April is an odd beast; today is the first truly nice day they’ve had in weeks, though large white clouds spread themselves across ice-blue skies. 

“Damn it,” she mutters, turning away from the glass entrance. There’s a Starbucks around the corner with a public restroom. Might as well get it over with. 

*

If you had told Jordan Rhodes-McCall that she would one day take three pregnancy tests in a Starbucks bathroom, she would have laughed you out of the fucking room. 

If you had told her that all three of those tests would be positive, and she would wrap them in paper towels, stick them in her Kate Spade bag, and buy yet another iced passion tea on her way out (guilt-stricken, of course), she would have had you committed. 

And yet. 

*

“What are you doing tomorrow at three?” Jordan asks Nick over their salads and lasagna that evening. 

Her purse sits on the side hall table, feet away from her, like a guilty brand. She sits tucked against the island counter in the kitchen, pushing her food around her plate, staring at nothing. Nick, home at a reasonable hour for the first time this week, brought take-out from their favorite Italian place a few blocks away. It’s the kind of thing he does every once in a while, just as she remembers to restock his bourbon in the wine cellar. It’s what makes them good together, real partners – the little things like that. 

Nick, relaxed and comfortable in jeans and a grey t-shirt, raises his eyebrows. “Sitting in my office.”

She takes a deep breath and straightens in her chair. “Cute.”

“I thought so,” he said with a shrug. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs. 

“You’re not eating.”

“Big lunch,” she mumbles, cheeks flushing. 

“Jordan.”

Swallowing, she sets her fork down and looks directly at him. “I’m going to the doctor’s tomorrow, and I thought maybe you could come with me,” she says steadily. 

Nick shoves away from his chair and moves around the island to her immediately, his hands cupping her face. “Are you all right?” he asks, voice hard with concern. 

Oh _shit_. “Yes, I’m fine – Nick, stop,” she says hurriedly, wrapping her hands over his wrists. “I’m sorry. I just – “ 

She pauses, keeping his wide green gaze. “I thought you could come with me because it’s – “

The words aren’t there. She wets her lips and slides off her chair, hurrying to the hall. Her bag remains, shiny chocolate-brown leather. When she brings it back into the kitchen, he’s watching her as if she’s gone a little crazy. Maybe she has. 

She sets the paper-towel-encased tests on the kitchen counter next to the sink, far away from the food. “I took three, to make sure,” she says calmly as she unwraps them. 

“Jesus – _Jesus_ – “ Nick breathes, leaning back against the island. She watches his eyes widen, his mouth fall open. “When – but – “

Blinking, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m going to the doctor to confirm tomorrow. I thought – if you could get away – “

He blinks, focusing his gaze on her. The hard lines of his face soften, the affection plain and heart-rending. Pushing off the counter, he pulls her into his chest and folds her into her arms. She wraps her arms around his waist and presses her face into his shoulder, breathing him in. His broad hands stroke over her back, his mouth near her ear. 

“We’re such fucking overachievers,” he murmurs. 

She laughs, burrowing into his chest. “Fucking right we are,” she says through her hiccupping giggles. The tension subsides from her muscles as she leans into him and he holds her steady, kissing her neck, her cheek, the line of her jaw. 

“I love you,” he says, the words rough from his throat. 

She tips her head back to look up at him, smiling so brightly she wonders if it will ever go away. “I love you too. Take me to bed.”

“Bossy,” he mutters, shifting to scoop her up in his arms and carry her up the stairs. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Next time, you can give all the orders,” she teases, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Jesus, Rhodes. Warn a guy before you pull out the big guns.”

She shuts him up with a long, wet kiss. They go back downstairs to clean up hours later. Nick saves the tests, though. 

The next day, her doctor confirms the pregnancy. The day after that, they tell her family over dinner, and his mom over the phone. 

Jordan thinks the surprises are over. After all, they’ve only been trying for two months. The pregnancy so soon is surprise enough. 

*

Her May ultrasound starts off normally. 

“How do you feel?” her obstetrician, Dr. Martinez, asks in her soothing voice. 

“Pretty good,” Jordan says, and it isn’t a lie. She’s been hormonal, sure. But the morning sickness has been limited, and her cravings haven’t been too strange. Her sex drive, however, has been off-the-charts – not that she or Nick is complaining. 

“Good,” Dr. Martinez murmurs, pushing Jordan’s gown aside for the ultrasound. “No Nick today?”

“Big meeting. I forgive him,” Jordan says blithely. Three months along, and it’s been all smooth sailing. She can let Nick miss one appointment. It is a meeting with Cameron Lynde, after all. The U.S. Attorney for Illinois isn’t a woman one treats lightly. 

The gel is cool to her overwarm skin. Jordan shuts her eyes for a moment and shivers, lets Dr. Martinez settle in next to her. She thinks of setting up lunch with Cameron, to help with advice on how to handle FBI agent fathers – she has to call Nick’s mother with updates – she needs to check on the Barrasford Estates’ new cabernet, they might be pricing out of her range –

A strange, rapid, echoing sound fills her ears. Jordan opens her eyes and glances at the screen. Abruptly, her breath catches. 

“Oh,” Jordan murmurs. 

“Yes, they’re both there. Strong heartbeats, both of them,” Dr. Martinez says with a smile, her dark hair showing lovely streaks of grey. 

Wait – _what_?

“Two?” Jordan squeaks, staring hard at the ultrasound screen. It’s all fuzzy lines to her – 

“Yes. The double beat indicates twins – it’s too heavy of a rhythm and sound for one. You can see them here – “ Dr. Martinez points with her pinky to the screen to two distinct blobs of lines, two heartbeats – 

_Twins_.

“We’re having twins?” Jordan asks, mouth agape. 

Dr. Martinez smiles and nods. “Would you like a print-out to take home to Nick?”

Dumbfounded, Jordan can only nod. 

_Fucking overachievers._ How right he had been, those weeks ago. 

An hour later, she storms into Nick’s office building, the ultrasound clutched in her hand. He’s in a meeting with Jack Pallas, according to his administrative assistant, a pleasant older woman named Margie. 

Jordan likes Margie. She likes Jack. 

She has no qualms with stalking right into Nick’s office unannounced, however. 

The man himself is sitting behind his desk, suit jacket draped over his chair, leaning forward to speak with Jack Pallas. The broad-shouldered special agent, a guest at their wedding, stares at her as she enters without knocking, his dark eyebrows raised. 

Nick blinks, stopping mid-word. “Jordan.”

Breathing heavily, she waves the wrinkled ultrasound at him, heedless of Jack and his clear amusement. “You magnificent jackass!” she exclaims, flushed and flustered. 

Rising, Nick plants his hands on his desk. “Jordan, what the hell – “

“Maybe I should step out – “ Jack says, looking more and more entertained by the moment. She shoots him a glare. One son – one son! That’s what Jack Pallas and Cameron Lynde pulled off. 

She smacks her palm down on Nick’s desk, taking the ultrasound with her. Their babies, amorphous blobs of Doppler, lay there in wait. “There are _two_ ,” she hisses, panic an acrid taste in her mouth. 

At her side, Jack whistles. Nick glances at her, then at the ultrasound, and blanches. In the afternoon sunlight, he is a handsome, if pale, picture. She thinks he might faint. _Good_. She feels like she might faint herself. 

“We’re having twins, McCall! So _there_ ,” she all but squeaks out. Then, she turns on her heel and stalks back out of the office, towards the elevator. 

“She’s taking it well,” she hears Jack say, all amusement. 

She doesn’t stay to hear Nick’s response. She wants Fritos and pajamas and a game plan. 

_Twins_.

Kyle is going to have a fucking field day. 

*

To his credit, Nick comes home to their townhouse very shortly after she arrives. He has an armful of flowers and the ultrasound, and his color has returned, even if he still looks absolutely petrified in his sharp green eyes. 

Jordan sits in the living room, her sundress loose around her thighs, hugging a throw pillow and staring into space. She, with perspective, realizes how utterly insane she was this afternoon. She is also perfectly willing to write it off to hormones, as pregnancy is a decent excuse for that. But - _twins _? She barely feels equipped to handle one baby, let alone two. She’s a woman of business and organization and lists, and it takes her so long to express herself emotionally – no take backs, she thinks wryly. She wants to be good at motherhood, at parenting, at being a partner for Nick – and she had barely adjusted to the idea of one. Now, there are two.__

__There are _two.__ _

__But Nick isn’t going anywhere, and she can’t blame him for anything._ _

__She looks up when Nick comes in, smiling faintly at the gerber daisies in his arms. “I’m sorry,” she says as he hands the flowers._ _

__Silent, he sits down next to her and leans into kiss her, his mouth soft and familiar. She sighs into it, feels something relax in her middle as he curls his arms around her and drags her into his lap. It isn’t something she does often – she’s not a particularly clingy woman – but today, she wraps her arms around his waist and tucks her face into his neck, letting him hold her steady and close. He is solid if pale, steady if shaken._ _

__He’s Nick and she’s Jordan, and they’ve handled worse._ _

__“Twins?” he murmurs into her ear at last, rubbing her abdomen through the thin cotton of her dress._ _

__She chokes on a laugh, terror and joy fighting for first billing. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she nestles closer into the cradle of his arms. “Apparently they run in my family. Who knew?”_ _

__He kisses the top of her head and flattens his palm against her belly, still mostly flat. “Two cribs.”_ _

__“Two sets of onesies.”_ _

__A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Two names.”_ _

__“Two times the chocolate cake for me,” she murmurs._ _

__“God, Rhodes – “_ _

__His voice trails away. She tips her head up at last to look at him, stroking her hands lightly over his chest. He is bewildered and handsome, his green eyes still wide. But there is happiness there and she loves him so very much for knowing when she needs him without asking. He’s getting pretty damn good at that._ _

__“I love you,” he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Jordan, I love you. And our two hellions.”_ _

__“I’m sure they’ll be perfectly well behaved,” she counters, happiness bubbling through her._ _

__“Yes. Based off you and Kyle, I bet they will,” he says with a mostly straight face._ _

__“Asshole,” she mutters as she slaps his chest. “Because you were such a peach.”_ _

__“My ma has got to stop sharing stories with you,” he groans._ _

__Jordan laughs, and the tension at the base of her spine unknots itself. “God, Kyle’s going to give us so much shit.”_ _

__“Your dad is going to lose _his_ shit.”_ _

__She strokes her hands over his chest, the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Your mom is going to cry.”_ _

__He laughs and cuddles her closer. She accepts it gracefully, utterly bemused by him, by their life together and the twists and turns of it all. Nick smells like summer and pine, smoky under his skin, and it feels so wonderfully familiar._ _

__“This is going to be hard,” she murmurs at last._ _

__Nick’s hand freezes from its circular path around her belly. He nuzzles at her ear, the line of her hair against her temple. “Yeah.”_ _

__Shivering, she rests her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder._ _

__“I bet we’ll kill it, though,” he murmurs after a moment._ _

__A laugh startles out of her throat. She lifts her head. “‘Kill it’?” she asks dryly, meeting his eyes._ _

__Nick grins down at her, his grip tightening on her middle. “We’re Nick and Jordan. McCall and Rhodes. Killing it is our style.”_ _

__“Your faith is astounding,” she murmurs, the nervousness still comfortably settled in her middle. But he is here too; they are in this together, she knows that much._ _

__He leans in and kisses her, his mouth hot and hungry over hers. She shuts her eyes and curls up closer to him, her mind finally slowing itself down. They just need a new plan – a revised plan – she’s good at planning and executing said plans. She’s Jordan Rhodes for god’s sake –_ _

__“There are two,” she whispers against his mouth, suddenly transfixed by the sight of a baby boy and a baby girl, images of their father, his slow smile there in both of their little chubby faces. “Nick, we’re having twins.”_ _

__The smile on his lips touches her mouth. “I love you,” he tells her, and it is a precious gift._ _

__She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him until she can’t breathe._ _

___Twins_. _ _

__*_ _

__Kyle has a fucking field day, when they tell her family._ _

__Grey Rhodes tears up, and hugs both Nick and Jordan in a rare demonstrative moment. Nick’s mom cries over the phone. She then sends Jordan an email suggesting that she come to Chicago to stay and help out at first, which makes Jordan sniffle in the back office at the wine store._ _

__Every so often, Jordan sends Nick a text: _there are two_ , she sends to him repeatedly, a smile on her face. _ _

__Apparently, it leaves him in a daze every time, or so his fellow agents tell her._ _

__Jordan smiles, and makes lists. Two of everything._ _

__*_ _


End file.
